The Chance You Won't Return (30 page)

Jim nudged me. “You can’t be bored during the helicopter fight scene. Look at the computer animation on that croc-shark.”

“Masterful,” I said, and yawned again. “Sorry, I got the worst sleep last night. It just hit me all of a sudden.” It wasn’t just last night, of course. Waking up to sit with Mom was starting to wear on me. I’d started using my free periods to nap in a corner of the library. A few times I nodded off during class and was jerked awake by the sound of a teacher snapping at me.

Jim pulled me in a little closer. “It’s okay. We can just hang out.”

“Make sure to tell me about croc-shark if I miss anything.”

“You got it.” He kissed the top of my head, and I could have melted right into his lap. I wanted to ask him how he knew what to do to make me feel better, even when things were so messed up, but my breathing was heavy and my eyes couldn’t stay open. I fell asleep on Jim’s shoulder, and when I woke up, he drove me home.

For Valentine’s Day, the student council sold carnations to raise money. You could buy a carnation — pink, white, or red — for a dollar, and the student council kids would deliver it to whomever you wanted, which meant that a lot of the girls with perfect hair and polo sweaters walked around with armfuls of flowers all day. I always hoped that one of them would be stricken with a terrible carnation allergy and swell to three times her original size. Usually my friends and I didn’t waste money on school stuff, so I was surprised when one of the student council reps handed me a pink carnation.

“You sure you have the right person?” I said.

“You’re Alex Winchester, right? Check the tag.”

Sure enough, it was my name. I made my way through the crowds to Jim’s locker and held up the flower for him.

“Happy Valentine’s Day,” he said, as if he’d been caught without a hall pass.

“Thanks,” I said. “It was really sweet. I’ve never gotten one of these before. Which, saying it out loud, makes me sound like an enormous loser, so maybe we can just forget that part.”

He shoved his hands in his pockets and looked at his sneakers. “The carnation table was right there and I had exact change with me and everything. And since I guess we’re kind of together and all —”

“Are we?” I said. “Together? Officially?”

“You’re the only person I’m helping to drive, so I think so.” He glanced up at me.

“Good,” I said. “I was kind of thinking that, too. I mean, as long as you’re not giving anybody else driving lessons.”

“Well, nobody does a three-point turn like you.” He laughed. “And that sounds like some really weird innuendo.”

“So . . . I guess we’re together.” Since Mr. Wiley had dropped the boyfriend bomb and since I’d been sitting at Jim’s lunch table, this conversation wasn’t exactly out of the blue. And I really liked being with Jim. Not just because he was an amazing kisser, either. He made me laugh and didn’t get frustrated with me when I avoided parallel parking. So far, he was the one thing about my junior year that didn’t suck. I’d just have to make sure that he never came over. Most boyfriends didn’t want to meet their girlfriend’s parents anyway — I thought Jim should consider this a blessing. As long as he stayed out of my house, why couldn’t we date?

“I didn’t get you anything,” I admitted. “For Valentine’s Day. I didn’t know —”

He shook his head. “No, it’s fine. The carnation was everything I had planned. Unless you want to have pizza and watch a movie or something later.”

“At your house?”

“Sure,” he said. “My parents are probably going out to dinner, so they won’t be around for a couple hours.”

“Subtle hint,” I said, tapping his arm with the carnation. Jim and I hadn’t had actual sex yet, but were getting close. Being around Jim made me feel comfortable and excited all at once. But it was my first real relationship, and I was worried about getting so serious. If anything went wrong, I wasn’t sure I could handle losing Jim in addition to all the other crap I’d been dealing with this year.

The bell shrilled. “That’s Spanish for me. Can I give you a call after school? I’ve got to babysit my brother until my dad gets home from work.”

He agreed. I wasn’t sure how to leave now that we were actually dating, but Jim leaned over and kissed me. One of the teachers walking by told us to break it up, so it was a quick kiss, but I felt my cheeks get pink and my head get light. Trying not to giggle like an idiot, I wondered what the Spanish word for carnation was.

Mom and Dad didn’t really do anything for Valentine’s Day. Dad had left a card for Mom on the table in the morning, which Katy thought was a good sign, but Mom didn’t seem to acknowledge the day at all. Teddy brought home a paper bag filled with store-bought valentines and candy, but Mom didn’t say anything except that the other kids in his class must have thought very well of him.

Katy teased me about the carnation but seemed fascinated by the idea of a real boyfriend. “He’s cute,” she said. “Are you going to bring him over?”

“Yeah, right,” I said. I was in the midst of trying on and rejecting different sweaters for going over to Jim’s. “We’d have to hide Mom in the attic like Mr. Rochester’s wife.”

By the time I had a new outfit selected, Dad was already home and making dinner, more than the usual frozen pizza or waffles. It was some kind of pasta dish from an actual cookbook and required actual cutting and measuring of ingredients. He was even going to make brownies with Teddy; the carton of eggs and box of brownie mix were already on the counter.

“Not too shabby,” I told Dad, surveying the kitchen, which was a mess of chopped vegetables and empty plastic bags. “It actually smells like food.”

“Exactly what I was going for,” he said.

I snagged a stray mushroom. “I’m going over to Jim’s for a little while.”

Dad wiped his hands on a dish towel. “Are his parents going to be around?”

“Yeah, I think so,” I said.

Mom strode into the kitchen with an armload of papers and sniffed the air. “That smells delightful.”

Dad grabbed a ladle and stuck it in the pot. “Try it for me, will you?”

“I’m not sure I have time —”

“One bite?” he said, pouring sauce into a mug. “I think I should add some more oregano — give it a try for me, please?”

She breathed in and out, then nodded. “All right.” She sat stiffly at the table as Dad set the mug and a spoon in front of her. Smiling without showing her teeth, she dipped the spoon into the mug and lifted a tiny amount of sauce to her lips. Another deep breath. After a second, she swallowed.

“It’s my mom’s recipe,” Dad said. His voice was a little softer. “Remember? I used to make it all the time, the first year we were married.”

I thought of Mom and Dad, not a lot older than I was, setting up their first apartment and not even knowing that any of this would happen. I thought of them in their wedding picture, which was still missing.

“One time you added a tablespoon of hot pepper instead of a teaspoon,” Dad was saying, crouching beside her. “We could barely eat it. Remember?”

Mom wouldn’t look at him. She took another bite.

“And you always made that chicken dish, with the cream of mushroom soup, and you could always get the butcher to give you a deal. So we ate that a lot because it ended up being so cheap.” He sounded so hopeful.

Mom set the spoon down. “It’s a lovely sauce,” she said, her voice a little shaky.

“You think?”

“Yes.” She folded her hands over her lap. “Where did you pick it up, George?”

At the sound of that name, he stood and marched to the counter, leaning against it like a boxer leaning against the ropes. For a second, everything was quiet. Then he grabbed an egg from the carton and hurled it against the wall.

“Goddammit!” he said. “Goddammit!”

The eggshell lay, split and oozing, on the tiles. The wall was splattered with yellow from where the yolk had exploded. At the kitchen table, Mom had started to cry, very quietly and almost imperceptibly. It wasn’t like the other times she’d gotten upset, the frantic cries and frustrated shouts. Her fingers uncurled themselves from around one another, and she grasped her papers but didn’t move from the table. Dad took a few deep breaths, then tore a few paper towels off the roll and began to clean up his mess.

I stepped noiselessly to the door and left before either of them noticed I was gone.

By the time I got to Jim’s, his parents were already gone. “I was just going to text you,” he said, letting me in. “I thought you weren’t coming or something.”

I took off my coat and hugged it against my chest. “Sorry, my parents were having a thing. And I walked.”

“I could have driven you.” He pulled the coat out of my arms. “Cold?”

I was shaking but hadn’t realized until Jim mentioned it. “Oh, yeah. You know, winter.” A lump was forming in my throat. I was desperate to not cry in front of Jim. Not after he bought me a carnation and invited me over when his parents were out of the house.

Jim rubbed his hands quickly over my arms and back. “Let’s get you warmed up.”

I followed him into the basement. We started kissing before we were even halfway down the stairs, then fell onto the couch together. Every part of me he kissed felt warmer — the tops of my ears, nook of my collarbone, my bottom lip — like they were slowly starting to glow. All I wanted was to forget everything except Jim and this feeling. Nothing else existed but us and how perfect we felt together. Zippers were unzipped, clothing disappeared, and I was on top of him.

“Are we?” I managed to ask.

He stopped kissing me. “Are we?”

“Maybe?” I pulled away a little. “I mean, I haven’t. Do you have, you know, something?”

“In my room. One second.” He kissed me hard and then bolted up the stairs. I could hear his footsteps above, moving into his room.

Suddenly it was cold again. I grabbed a fleece blanket and wrapped it around my shoulders. The door to Jim’s art room was open, so I peeked in. He was working on a new series of what looked like portraits of people, but everyone looked almost like they were underwater — hair bled into the background; eyes were glossy; colors ran together. It was ethereal. I didn’t recognize any of the faces until I saw one in the corner that could have been me. Her eyes were almost closed, and her hair was dark purple and floated around her. She was separate, peaceful.

I heard Jim hurry down the stairs, and a second later, he appeared in the doorway. “Sorry about that.”

“Don’t be sorry,” I said. I wanted to ask him how he made me feel calm and excited all at once. How he got me so well. How he made me forget about everything else. Instead, I said, “Your new paintings are so good. How are you so good?”

He smiled. “I’m good at other things.”

“I bet.” I laughed. He moved closer, and I wrapped the blanket around both of us. Maybe it was fast, maybe not. But for a little while, I was warm and happy. I wasn’t shaking anymore.

At home that night, I lay in bed with my cell phone clutched to my chest. A couple of times I pulled up Theresa’s number from my contacts list and held my thumb above the call button and rehearsed what I wanted to say in my head.
I just had sex with Jim Wiley — yes,
the
Jim Wiley. It was nice and kind of what you think it’s going to be and not at all what you think it’s going to be. He was nice during and afterward and I don’t think anything’s going to change except that everything’s changed, right? I’m different now except I don’t feel all that different, but I am, and I’m holding it all inside and I want to tell you.

Except Theresa and I weren’t exactly talking, so I couldn’t tell her.

“Hey.” On the other side of the room, Katy was huddled under her comforter. I had thought she was asleep, but I turned to see her staring at me. “What’s the matter?”

“Nothing. I’m fine. Go back to sleep.”

She sat up. “You keep typing and looking at your phone and not doing anything, and you look like something’s up.”

In her pajamas and her hair half a mess, she looked younger than thirteen. But I felt like it would burst out of me if I didn’t tell anyone. “Can you keep a secret?” I asked, and we both laughed a little. “Seriously, you can’t tell anyone.”

She nodded solemnly.

“I had sex tonight.” It felt strange to say the words, and for a moment, they hung between us.

“With Jim?” she asked.

“No, with Brad Pitt. Of course with Jim.”

Katy shifted under her comforter. “Was he nice?” I assured her that he was nice. “Were you safe?” Yes, we were very safe. My sister stared at me for a moment as if she were working out a math problem in her head. “What’s it like?”

“It’s nice,” I said. “It’s like running and laughing, and like when you look at someone and you know you’re both thinking the same thing. I don’t know. It’s hard to explain.” I frowned. “Maybe I shouldn’t have told you.”

“No, I’m glad you did,” Katy said, but suddenly she seemed smaller and farther away. “Just be careful, okay?”

I promised I’d be careful. “Sorry, you can go to sleep now.” Katy nodded and rolled over. For a moment, I watched her body rise and fall with each breath, but she was clutching the comforter so tightly that I was sure she wasn’t asleep yet. On my phone, I tapped out a text to Theresa —
hey can we talk?
— but immediately deleted it. I set my phone aside and joined my sister in mock sleep.